Performance Coach Paul Dewland says change doesn't happen overnight, but gradually it does come if you stick with it.

“Remember when you were young and you went into a bar hoping to meet a girl. You didn’t walk through and go, ‘Whoa, stay away from that one, or that one.’ You went after the one that attracted you.

“We succeed in golf when we go after those things we want. If you’re focused on fixing a slice or getting rid of the shanks, then you’ll become much better at trying to avoid hitting slices or shanks.

“To hit better golf shots, you have to focus on what you really want. If your focus is on hitting it well, you will make the improvement that you’re looking for. You can make change when there’s a shift in intent.”

He’s right, again. When I started with Paul back in June, I wanted to learn more about the mental game, but I became fixated on exorcizing the infernal shanks from my game. At times this summer, I felt like quitting golf.

For the last five or six weeks I shifted gears and focused on building a better swing with coach Annie Mallory.* And Paul was totally cool with that. “If your mechanics are bad, you will play bad golf, no matter how well you might manage your mind.”

I’ve met with Annie three times and I’ve been dutifully doing drills in my basement. On the range, I’m taking at least three reps—rehearsal swings—before hitting a ball. I’m hitting far fewer practice balls, but the actual shots are higher quality and I’m less frazzled when the shot is crappy.

Although I haven’t played much golf in the past three weeks due to a family vacation, I am hitting the ball much better on the course. I’m cranking my driver as far as I’ve ever hit it (thank you technology), and I’m hitting my irons solidly, taking shallow divots where I never used to.
(Heck, I won men’s long drive in the Guelph Chamber of Commerce tournament! Ok, so Dustin or Bubba weren’t entered, so what?)

When I recounted my recent good fortune to Paul, he had it all figured out. (Talking with Paul is sometimes like talking to Mr. Know-It-All, although Paul doesn’t sound like Bullwinkle.) Paul explained that I was seeing a difference because I had shifted away from trying to cure my shanks to learning how to hit the ball better.

“When your intention is focused on flushing the ball, you develop the energy and momentum in the direction that will lead you to flushing the ball.”

In this Mind Game series, I’ve been talking about the process of change, which fascinates me. Change is what golfers are looking for when they read a golf tip online or buy an instruction book, or when someone decides she wants to become more assertive, lose weight, or change some part of her behaviour.

Deciding to make a change, however, doesn’t not mean you have changed. The decision starts the process. The hard part, as I’ve noted previously, is staying with the change over the long term, especially when you’re stressed or tired. Sticking with it is really tough when the kids are screaming, your wife has pissed you off, or you’ve skanked one OB again.

After I gleefully reported how I’ve been hitting it better lately, Paul noted: “You’re seeing the shift happen slowly, which is the way it works. No one makes instant change from a eureka moment. When you have the intent to go after what you want, you then have to use discipline and work your butt off.

“Over time, you’ll notice that change has been happening gradually. It comes on softly. You’ll have moments where you go ‘Oh yeah, it’s happening.’”

When Paul talks about something coming on “softly,” that’s about as close as he comes to sounding like a mystical guru. Actually, it reminds of a line from comic genius Lily Tomlin, which I think goes like this, “Instead of trying harder, why don’t we try softer?”

Indeed.

*Annie has entered the Instructor Search contest on The Golf Channel. Click here, scroll down to select and check out Annie’s video. (She’s a great teacher and funny, which is a rare in golf.) And sure, vote for her. Four finalists will host their own half hour instruction special and viewers will vote on who they believe should become the next TGC instructor.

Mark O'Meara designed Grandview Golf Club, his first global solo design, in Ontario's Muskoka region.

The rock of Muskoka has long been the region’s signature. The craggy outcroppings are ruggedly beautiful, dramatically shaped, and spackled with pinks and blues.

While Muskoka has long been a worldwide tourist region, golf wasn’t a part of the picture, unlike vacation areas such as Northern Michigan or New York state. It was believed the ubiquitous rock made it too expensive and difficult to build golf courses.

But developers and designers figured out how to make rock and golf work together. In fact, Muskoka has become a North American golf destination that offers world-class quality courses. And no region in the world blends flowing fairways of green with towering trees, vast lakes and granite.

“The use of the rock is totally innovative—a strategic and aesthetic element that shows off the beauty of the Canadian Shield,” says Toronto golf architect Tom McBroom who played a leading role in the development of Muskoka golf.

The first premium resort course in Muskoka was Deerhurst Highlands in 1988 in Huntsville. The team of McBroom and U.S. designer Bob Cupp incorporated vertical rock faces into the course, especially on No. 10, which features a 100-foot wall that runs up the right side of the fairway.

The rock does not encroach on the playing areas of Deerhurst, which entertainingly careers across rollicking terrain, through some gentle valleys and even a unique breakout of three links-style holes.

“Deerhurst was the first hi-tech, modern course with a quintessential Canadian look,” said McBroom, who updated Deerhurst’s original Lakeside course. Although short at only 4,712 yards with one par five, it’s a solid course.

McBroom continued to experiment with rock at The Lake Joseph Club in 1995 near Port Carling. Rock frames a number of holes such as the par-3 No. 8 where a granite wall looms behind the green. Most of the rock is between the tees and fairways, providing a dramatic look. (From the back tees, there’s lots of rock to carry, but little from the forward tees.)

A nice balance of fairness and difficultly, Lake Joseph slices through thick woods and bobs across wickedly undulating terrain that provides spectacular scenery and variety.

ClubLink Corporation, which owns the course, and other golf industry folks realized that golf could work in Muskoka when The Lake Joseph Club was named Best New Canadian Course by Golf Digest and SCOREGolf in 1997 and 1998 respectively.

Lake Joe was such a hit that ClubLink and McBroom pushed the rock experiment further with Rocky Crest which opened in 2000. McBroom took the design risks, but ClubLink took financial risks. At least 550,000 tonnes of sand were trucked in.  You can’t grow grass in rock.

At Rocky Crest, McBroom exposed rock throughout the entire course—along the turns of doglegs and around greens. No. 6 is one of the world’s most unique holes; from the back tees, a golfer must carry three acres of rock to the fairway 180 yards away.

Surprisingly for Muskoka, the topography is relatively gentle and Rocky Crest is lovely walk. With its seamless blend of holes and spectacular log-cabin-style clubhouse, Rocky Crest was ranked Ontario’s No. 1 resort course by Ontario Golf magazine.

When ClubLink retained 1998 Masters and British Open champion Mark O’Meara to design a new course in Huntsville, he said the use of rock was a novel evolution in golf design that he wanted push forward.

The Mark O’Meara Course at Grandview Golf Club in Huntsville, which opened in 2001, brings rock more into the playing areas of course, notably on the short par 4 No.8 where three rock knobs split the fairway in half. With its forced carries and steep slopes, it’s imperative that you play correct tees to enjoy the O’Meara Course which sprawls across spectacularly rugged terrain.

The Inn Course across Highway 60 at Delta Grandview Resort is a 9-hole executive course that delivers all the features of a championship course in a smaller package.

In comparison, Bigwin Island Golf Club designed by respected Toronto architect Doug Carrick is a gentler course on more rolling terrain. A scenic boat ride takes you to Bigwin Island, the site of a luxury resort in the 1920s and ’30s that attracted the rich and famous to the region, including the Rockefellers, Clarke Gable and wife Carole Lombard.

With its views of Lake of Bays, thick forests and elevated tees, Bigwin is gorgeous and enjoyable for all levels of golfers. The wide fairways provide room for sprayed shots, but better players will find all the challenge they wish. Golf Digest ranked Bigwin Island as Best New Course in Canada in 2002.  Muskoka golf was getting hot.

Although architect Ron Garl hails from pancake-flat Florida, he took full advantage of the tumbling terrain and the rock at Taboo to design a wonderfully engaging course that opened in 2002. Taboo plays through wooded valleys, weaves through shoulders of rock, and over lovely beaver meadows.

Taboo is an especially strong course for the variety of holes and the medley of shots it challenges you to play. No. 18 may be Muskoka’s most dramatic closing hole, zigzagging down through rock outcroppings and back up to the green. Taboo Resort also offers The Sands, a nice nine-hole course.

As the name would suggest, rock is featured prominently through The Rock, the first design in Canada by Nick Faldo, the three-time winner of each the British Open and the Masters. The course provides gorgeous views of Lake Rosseau near Port Carling, and the looks from the tees are exciting too. The Rock is quite a challenge, playing through corridors of trees and over cascading fairways.

The big-name courses command green fees in line with their marquee value, but Muskoka also offers quality courses at more affordable rates.

This includes 18-hole Seguin Valley Golf Course just south of Parry Sound. Spread over 300 acres, Sequin Valley shares all the attributes of the more expensive courses—beautiful scenery, plenty of rock and playability.

Huntsville Downs Golf & Country Club is a traditional Muskoka course—the original nine dates to 1925—that traverses through dense pine and features water on half the holes.

Another old-time course is South Muskoka Curling and Golf Club, which was designed by Robbie Robinson. The serpentine fairways call for precision shot-making through the tall trees to undulating greens that are well protected by treacherous bunkers.

Muskoka Highlands Golf Course is unique for its open Scottish links-style look, which brings the wind into play on most shots, but generally allows you to find errant shots.

Like Bigwin Island, you arrive at Windermere Golf Club by boat. This 18-hole layout provides a nice balance of challenge and forgiveness to interest the better player and allows less-skilled golfers to have a good time.

Highly regarded North Granite Ridge is a modern course—it expanded to 18 holes in 2002—with massive pine forests, hummocks and hollows, and a spectacular granite wall that lines No. 8 fairway.

Muskoka also offers a strong collection of excellent 9-hole courses, including Diamond in the Ruff, a quality layout known for immaculate conditioning with plenty of variety, elevation change and true greens.

Other notable 9-hole courses include Bracebridge Golf Club, which is ideal for families, Kirrie Glen Golf Course featuring spectacular scenery, and Beaver Dam Golf Club and Cottages, which is fairly short at 1,816 yards but beautiful.

As you can see, golfers living in—or traveling to—Muskoka are no longer stuck between a rock and a hard place.

When making big changes to your game, 'you get a lot worse before you get better,' is the sobering reality offered by Tom Jackson, Director of Instruction at Core Golf Junior Academy in Orlando.

Today’s blog delves into the difficulty–and strangeness–of trying to make changes to one’s golf game. Performance coach Paul Dewland says my ego is trying to protect me, swing coach Annie Mallory says hitting shanks shows progress, and friend/professional Tom Jackson says I’m in for a long and bumpy ride. Oh boy.  

My expert opinion as an amateur psychologist is that the easy part of making change is deciding to make it. The action part—and sticking with it—is the hard part. 

Say you buy a pop psychology book on Friday at lunch, and you devour it (the book) by Sunday night. You declare change is gonna come. Let’s say that change is not to eat junk food while watching Jay or Dave anymore. 

With newfound determination, no junk food is consumed Monday to Wednesday. But Thursday is a brutal day at work and then your teenager tells you to do something anatomically impossible with yourself. 

In a weak moment, the junk food comes out. But afterwards, when it feels like you’ve got a brick in your stomach, you might feel disappointed in yourself, pissed off, maybe some shame.  You beat yourself up really well. You might even call yourself choice names. 

I’ve been there many times. (I think it’s exacerbated by Catholic guilt, but that’s a whole other psychic worm hole best left unexplored in a golf blog.) 

I had a similar self-flagellation punch-up just last weekend. As per earlier blogs, I’ve battled the shanks this summer. But through coaching with mental guru Paul Dewland and swing coach Annie Mallory, I’ve been working on changes and seeing some progress. Recently, I had gone through several rounds with no shanks and I liked my thinking. 

Last Saturday morning, I was rolling along nicely after five holes at one-over when I came to a wedge shot. Between clubs and feeling uncomfortable, I karranged a shank. I hit two more on the front, then three or four on the back. I stopped keeping score but my internal nut-bar kept freaking out. 

The harangue went something like: ‘This is brutal. I can’t play golf this way. I work in golf and I write about it. What right do I have to write golf instruction articles or blogs? Who could watch me play like this and read my stuff? It’s a joke. I should just quit. This is no fun. Hell, maybe if I did something different, I’d have more time and make more money.’ 

I drove home feeling low, low, low.  (Think of a grinding Howling Wolf slow blues and black clouds following a green Corolla.) 

Now imagine, John Madden bellowing, ‘Stop it right there.’ 

Here’s the semi-expert, self-analysis perspective: In terms of my golf, I’m working on changing the way I swing and think so I play better golf. I’m not focusing on fixing the shanks. They will go away if the rest of my game improves. 

But I’m trying to change engrained patterns of behaviour. I’ve repeated them so many times,
they are unconscious habits. (It’s no different than your routine when you, for example, you get in your car. You likely go through the same sequence of motion every time.) 

To change my patterns, I have to consciously work at them. When I’m relaxed, feeling relatively good and full of energy, I can work efficiently at the changes. But if I’m stressed and pissed off—like when I hit two hosel rockets in a row into a pond—the habits overcome my best intentions. 

And that’s when my ego starts to moan, whine and says, ‘Quit, you loser.’ 

“The ego is trying to protect you,” Paul says. “It’s the fight or flight syndrome. For you, it’s not a bear in the woods, but the shanks. Your self esteem and sense of self feels attacked, so the ego says ‘Run away.’ In other words, quit golf.’” 

That made sense to me (and of course, I won’t quit). The next part didn’t. 

According to Annie, hitting more shanks means I’m actually making progress in changing my swing. It shows I’m making progress getting my hands ahead of the ball. 

“Shanks are no big deal when you’re working on what you’re doing,” she wrote in an email. “It just means you’re starting to get into a better position with a little flip still present.” 

Phew. After reading that, I laughed at myself for getting in such a lather, and I felt that sense of renewed hope that keeps golfers—and junk food junkies who want to get clean—going. 

At my next lesson with Annie, she showed me the technical reasons why I had started to shank again; in trying to keep my hands ahead, they were getting blocked by my early hip turn.  We worked on a couple of new drills that focused on better body position. In combination with my new hand position, I was hitting some sweet shots. 

After Annie left, I was goofing around hitting spinning wedge shots like I’ve never hit before. It felt wonderful. I drove home beaming. 

Having gained some perspective from Paul and Annie, I learned that when I’m working on change-—of any kind–I’m winning, even when the results don’t appear to be coming right away. 

“You’ll get worse before you get better,” Core Golf’s Tom Jackson told me over the phone the other day. “It’s a long road.” 

This reminded me of the first time I tried to quit smoking in university. The first few days were OK. But when I got to my first party, I gave in before I’d finished my first beer. 

Eventually, I did stop. My will to change and my ability to stay the course prevailed. It’s not easy, but change can come. Even to a whiny shanker.

Artist Greg Douglas brilliantly portrays the challenges presented by the Legends at Lionhead.

We humans have a habit of giving personalities to objects, places and even weather.

On a brutal winter day, someone might say “She’s howling out there.” Planes are usually discussed like women. “She’s a sturdy old bird.”  Hurricanes are always christened with names,male and female.

I think we do it so that we can relate better to whatever we’re dealing with, even golf courses.

The demanding Legends course at public Lionhead Golf & Country Club in Mississauga, Ontario (just west of Toronto) has been characterized through the years in media stories as “a beautiful brute” and a “stern task-master” to name but a few.  Certainly, many golfers have had interesting ways to describe the Legends, some of which aren’t fit for print.

And that’s fine. The Legends was conceived from the start to be one tough track that would seriously challenge golfers, but also deliver incredible conditions, professional and friendly service (including parking lot service) and a great clubhouse. The service is a key parts of the equation, but at the end of the day, it’s the course that resonates with golfers.

Designer Ted Baker succinctly said that Legends was conceived as making “par elusive,” and that pithy phrase is not debatable.

At 7,402 yards from the tips with a staggering Slope of 155, Legends at Lionhead is known as one of the toughest courses in North America (third toughest according to Golf Digest in 2003). The middle tees (blue) are 6,409 yards with a Slope 148, which is still tough.

It is all of that with forced carries over the Credit River, approach shots to elevated greens surrounded by bunkers, and intimidating views from tees and fairways.

The first hole at Legends is notorious. It calls for a solid strike that must avoid a pond left and a bunker right to leave an approach of about 150-170 yards to carry the river and front bunkers to a sliver of a green. 

Some think that it’s Exhibit No. 1 that Legends is an extreme course that’s too tough for most golfers and even unfair. Frankly, I used to think that until I got to know it better.

Bunk! On most every hole, you have options to hit a less risky shot if you don’t think you can pull it off, hit to the wide side of a green or fairway, or layup.  (That includes No. 1: you can layup in front of the greenside bunkers.) No one holds a gun to your head, demanding you make a shot, although your golf buddies might certainly stick the needle in if you don’t try. But isn’t that part of the fun?

Sure, there are a number of forced carries, but in golf like other sports, there comes at time when you have to deliver. (After strike two in baseball, your choices are pretty limited.)  In golf, getting the ball airborne is not an unreasonable demand.

It’s precisely the incredible challenge that Legends sets before golfers that makes it such a delight. There are no “ho-hum pars” at Legends. Score well for your ability and you know that you’ve hit some good shots, made excellent decisions and managed yourself pretty well.  If you didn’t score so well, many golfers lick their chops at the prospect of taking another run at it.

A round at Legends will give you an honest appraisal of your game and your ability to handle tough situations—in any environment. How you show up on the golf course is an accurate barometer of how you show up in the rest of your life.

You’ll also learn a lot about your partners and their ability to manage risk, honestly evaluate their own abilities and keep their emotions in check. No wonder that Legends is so popular for business games. A little shared adversity leads to greater connection with anyone.

Certainly, no one with KaneffGolf offers any apologies for the difficulty of Legends. They’re quite proud of it.

The Legends at Lionhead: She’s tough, but certainly fair.

For more information, visit www.kaneffgolf.com

Annie Mallory of the Core Golf Academy is helping me learn a better swing, and how to learn. The latter is the hardest part.

In addition to Performance Coach Paul Dewland, who is helping me with the mental side of the game, I’ve started taking lessons with Annie Mallory, an instructor with the Core Golf Academy. I’ve known Annie for years through my communications work with Core, and that she’s a great coach, a former contestant on The Big Break, and lots of fun. Now, I have mind and swing coaches.  Golly, I’m building my own entourage.

I’ve been called far worse names.

“You’re Flippy McFlipperson,” Instructor Annie Mallory says with a laugh in describing how I’m flailing away at The Academy at Piper’s Heath Golf Club in Milton, Ontario.
“I know Flippy because I used to swing like that too.”

The official diagnosis is that my hands tend to get caught behind me. Coming into impact, I lose the hinge in my right wrist, which should be bent back like a waiter holding a tray, and my hands flips forward.

“That’s why you’re digging a hole for a pool,” she said, pointing to the ugly scar I’ve inflicted on the range.

It was my first lesson with Annie after concluding I couldn’t right this ship on my own. Maybe Bubba Watson doesn’t need help, but I do. I’ve preached for years that to genuinely improve, a golfer needs coaching. Typically, I didn’t listen to my own bluster.

I’ve written and edited hundreds of instruction articles over the course of about 20 years, which has contributed to my delusion that I could fix my own swing.

And I’m a typical golf lemming. I’ve consumed tonnes of golf books, I read every article in Golf Digest, I carouse through YouTube looking for beautiful golf swings, and I engage in earnest discussions in bars, kitchens and on tee boxes about things like swing plane and low point (but only with willing participants, so don’t run if you see me coming your way.)

But if Tiger and Phil the Thrill need another set of eyes to keep them on track, well duh, it makes sense that I need it too.  But it took until I was hitting in practically sideways until I asked for help.

What’s with that? Well, I HATE asking for help. It’s admitting that I can’t do something on my own. And like many guys, I don’t want to take direction from someone else. Then I become subservient to that person. And when I’m agitated, my head spins with my own internal bickering, and I don’t listen very well.

Actually, this doesn’t make me much different than most anyone else, according to performance coach Paul Dewland.

“The ego hates change. It makes the ego feel vulnerable,” he says. (I believe this statement hits upon a wider truth if you insert ‘male’ before ego.)

“This vulnerability indicates that the ego has lost some sense of control of the ship, and it hates that. It would rather go to the clubhouse after the round and complain about our crappy swing to our buddies.

“The true golfer in us loves to feel uncomfortable, because it finally gets to learn to play correctly, rather than take a back seat to the ego’s indulgences. The golfer within sees the long-term benefits of making changes, and that performance will suffer for a while.

“If you’re uncomfortable, it means you’re changing. But the false golfer—the ego—hates feeling uncomfortable and the temporary dip in performance that comes with swing changes.

“To avoid this, it makes excuses to stay the same: justifying, blaming and denying against the need to change. That’s despite maintaining the same handicap and making the same errors, all of which is more fodder for the clubhouse whining festival.

“Sadly, most golfers choose comfort over successful change. We bow down to an uncomfortable little feeling in our gut rather than focus on the new behaviour and its benefits. This is why most of us don’t do what we know we need to do, whether it’s diet changes, exercising, or improving our golf swing. We tend to do what we feel like, not what works.”

Well, my ego finally had enough shanks, brutal scores and getting beat by my 16-year-old son Corey.

One evening I was hitting balls all over the map at Piper’s Heath. I was so dangerous that I took the furthest right spot on the range. I was reeling with frustration and feeling this close to turning my 7-iron into a helicopter. While taking a breather, I saw that Annie was between lessons. I hummed and hawed for five minutes before I finally walked over and croaked, “Ah, Miss Annie”—which I’ve always called her—“can you take a look?”

After we had booked a lesson, I wondered why I hadn’t asked Annie to work with me sooner. The guys in the Core Golf Academy, including Sean Foley and Tom Jackson, rave about her as a teacher, and both agree she’ll soon be one of the top coaches on the LPGA Tour. Annie is from New Brunswick, so she’s got that Maritime friendliness, she doesn’t sugar coat, and laughs a lot.

But she knows the golf swing, and she can swing it herself. When she hits a ball to demonstrate proper hand action, the iron hits the turf with a satisfying thump and the ball penetrates the sky with zip.

I’ll spare you the minutia of our lesson, but her main objective is to teach me proper impact position with my hands well ahead of the ball, my arms straight, and my left hip forward and rotating.

Listening to her explain and demonstrate was easy. Doing the drill she gave me—hitting a wedge with about 70 per cent effort with a half-swing–was maddeningly difficult.  I felt incredibly incompetent that I couldn’t make this change easily, and thought ‘Shite, if I can’t nail this by the next lesson…’

Thank you Mr. Ego.

Since my lesson, I’m doing my homework: working on my drill on a range whenever I can, and in my basement most mornings, but it still takes a lot of focus to pull it off. And I’m supposed to do about 10 repetitions without a ball for every ball I actually hit.

Pointing to about 15 balls, she said: “It should take you about 20 minutes to work through this many balls. You’ve got to set up the right pattern in your brain so that you master this. You’ve got to myelinate,” she says, referring to a substance in the brain called myelin discussed in the popular book, The Talent Code by Daniel Coyne. (We’ll plunge into myelin in another blog.)

Making swings on a range without hitting a ball is even harder than trying to hit the ball correctly. I just want to scrape ball after ball and hit the damn things.

This gives me new insight into one of Red Green’s maxims: “”I’m a man… but I can change… if I have to… I guess.”

Golf performance coach Paul Dewland says it's OK to focus on swing mechanics during a round. But don't think about them. Feel them.

Golf performance coach Paul Dewland is coaching me on the mental game. I played in my club championship last weekend at Blue Springs, and it was a disaster. It was a self-fulfilling prophecy after my last blog on playing when you don’t have confidence in your swing. The experience told me: I need to keep focused on some of the early things Paul and  I discussed (like witnessing my thoughts rather than being caught up in them), develop a coaching-student relationship wtih Core Golf’s Annie Mallory, and play in more stroke play events with galleries. I’m such a Nervous Nellie.

You’ve heard it, read it in Golf in the Kingdom and in Rotella’s tomes, and maybe even seen it in Bagger Vance.

That is, the road to enlightenment, soft draws and birdie putts is to hit golf shots in a serene Zen-like state focused on meditative stuff like breathing and visualizing wondrous shots.

You’re NOT supposed to think about mechanics. That’s earthly, secular and really bad.

But, I’ve heard countless touring pros talk about how a physical adjustment or swing key carried them to victory on the PGA Tour.  The best players in the world think about mechanics under tournament pressure.

What gives?

I think this is why a lot of golfers struggle with this infernal game; we don’t know how to find a balance between the mental and physical parts of the game.

I’ve had great rounds where a specific swing key helped me, but I’ve also had solid rounds where I was thinking mainly about, say, being relaxed and swinging to my target.

My usual tendency, like most golfers, is to focus too much on mechanics. On bad days, I’m on swing thought No. 23 by the 11th tee. I become so pre-occupied with some stupid thing like turn the hips that I get tense, quick and hit all kinds of gruesome shots. 

Hands up if this happens to you?

No kidding.

As avid golfers, we all know that focusing on mechanics is like eating chips while watching Leno; we know we shouldn’t, but we do it anyway. 

Hitting bad shots is not fun. So we look for a solution to the problem and try to fix it. That sounds pretty normal, but I think that ‘fix it’ actually means ‘control it.’

Here’s the problem: I cannot control things external to me. I cannot control my kids, neighbours, work associates… or even a golf ball.

According to Paul, I can only directly control three things: my thoughts, my emotions and my actions. Everything else is beyond my control. “You can influence external things, but you cannot control them,”  he says.

Want proof? I can hit what feels and looks like a perfect drive, but it may hit a cart sign and bounce in the trees. Or I can tell one of my teenage sons  to clean his room.  Enough said.

The other key element is that when I think about my swing, I am using the left side of my brain, my analytical side. To play my best, I am best to rely on the right side of my brain, my creative side. (You’ve no doubt read this about a million times.)

But just as thinking exclusively about mechanics doesn’t work, niether does ‘focusing only on the target’.

So my questions is  in practical terms that I can apply on the course, how do I find a balance between the mental and physical parts of the game?

Paul says a major problem for most golfers is just that: thinking.

They think in words about mechanics while hitting  a shot. Such as ‘turn your shoulders under your chin, transfer your weight,’ etc.

But the brain doesn’t understand words. Seriously, folks. The body responds to physical feelings and images. Using words just creates confusion and tension, which leads to those off-the-world shots.

Instead, Paul says it’s OK to focus on a physical move in a practice swing. The key, however, is to feel the motion, rather than think , for example, ‘turn the left hip.’  When I go to hit the actual shot, I can feel that motion and connect it to a target. (I’m just getting the hang of it, but it does seem to work. I’ll report back in more detail.)

In this way, I rely on the right side of my brain to execute the shot, my attention is directed to the target—because that’s where the ball is supposed to go—and I give myself the best chance of hitting a good shot.

It may not be a great shot, but it’s likely to be playable–unlike when I’m tense, thinking, and prone to swinging spasmodically and the ball can go anywhere.

Hmm, how’s that like my life? When I try to rigidly control things, they rarely work out very well.  But if I chill and let things almost take their own course, the results are usually ok. Maybe not perfect, but good enough.

Cool.

Performance coach Paul Dewland offers sage advice on surviving when you've lost your swing, and how to find it again.

Golf performance coach Paul Dewland is coaching me on the mental game. My apologies for the delay in posting, but I was camping with the family in glorious Canadian Shield country enjoying big rocks, forests and clear lakes. I intended on writing about the club championship at Blue Springs this upcoming weekend, but I felt compelled to write about trying to play when you don’t have confidence. That should tell you about my chances this weekend. 

As I’ve become more educated about the mental part of golf, I’ve learned an important lesson: I may go through my pre-shot routine with the Nicklausian focus and precision, but if I lurch at the ball like a man possessed by demons and a case of ticks, well, the ball ain’t going long and straight. 

According to the gurus of golf, I know that I’m supposed to be confident, trust my swing, and dance with the one that I “brung” to the course that day.  

But if one shot sails left OB and the next balloons right, there’s no trusting or dancing. It’s more like fear and loathing. And yes, my last few weeks on the course have been a riot. 

Performance coach Paul Dewland acknowledges this grim reality: “If you don’t have a swing that’s working, you won’t play with confidence,” he says flatly. “It just won’t happen. 

“When you’re struggling out there, you have to accept your current swing. You don’t have to be resigned to it, but you have to accept what you’ve got on the course that day and ride it out. That helps you make the best of the swing you have.“It’s important that you don’t panic. Instead, be confident that you’ll eventually get back on track. You’ll take a lesson, work it out on the range, or whatever, but you’ll work it out.* 

“And you will shorten the learning curve if you approach ‘working it out’ with curiosity rather panic or worry. You cannot learn while you’re worried; you only get better at worrying.” 

Paul adds that if a golfer focuses on, for example, fixing her slice, then it becomes self-fulfilling prophecy. Instead, he advises that a golfer focus on the process of hitting good shots.  

“Ben Hogan had a fascination with the process of making good swings, and used the ball as feedback. He had an insatiable curiosity for swinging the club correctly. He wasn’t looking for quick fixes.  

“To play at a high level, you have to know why the ball flies the way it does, you have to understand swing concepts, and you have to understand yourself. You have to be self-aware.  

“People who become really good golfers are students of the game. They take lessons, read, and talk with other players about the finer points of the game. They have an appetite for how the swing works, and they work on applying that knowledge and experience to their game. That’s how you get better at this game. It’s like going to school.  

“Namely, you have to understand how to use your body and mind to swing the club to hit good shots. Players who score well are aware of the ideal state that they need to be in internally, such as being calm but feeling athletic, and that they need to be confident in their swing.  

“If you approach those times that you lack confidence as a learning opportunities rather than failure, you will improve.”  

Thanks coach. That’s way easier said than done. But it sure beats driving a golf cart off a cliff because I can’t hit a fairway or make a putt.  

As a friend says, this is a big topic. More on this next time.  

*And I’ll report on my lesson with Annie Mallory of the Core Golf Academy at Piper’s Heath GC in Oakville, Ontario.

A behaviour that I’ve been looking to change on the course, and elsewhere, is my tendency to over-think. I’m a ruminator. Not a bad thing for a writer, but not great for a golfer.

If I miss, say two short putts in consecutive holes. I’m apt to start beating myself up with relish: “You idiot! You suck! That’s the second one in a row. There goes the front. You’re decelerating. You don’t even know how to putt. You need a lesson. Why bother? You’ll never improve at putting.” Etc., etc.

It’s pretty typical for golfers, the happy bunch that we can be.

Karl Morris, the European mind coach, calls onslaught a “thought chain.” I actually thought for a while that he said ‘thought train.’ But that also works because one negative thought leads to another and another, and pretty soon my mind is running away dangerously, I can get angry, depressed, tension builds, and I’m in a spiral to Hacksville.

When thought chains starts, Morris suggests visualizing a big stop sign and saying “Stop!” Since I first tried this, I’ve used it many times on the course and elsewhere. It has prevented me from getting into emotional fits, helped me gain some perspective and move on.

I’ve learned a new technique from coach Paul when I find myself getting down—figuratively and literally. That is, as soon as I find myself starting to defame myself, I need to look up. It’s that simple.

And it works incredibly well. Here’s why:

When I look down, particularly when my eyes are in the lower half of their natural position, it activates the parts of my brain where my “auditory digital processing system” resides, as well as my feelings. So when I look down, the internal dialogue starts to churn and my feelings get riled.

“By keeping your head up, and more importantly your eyes up, you don’t get into the negative dialogue and you dis-associate from your feelings. It’s a trick that allows you to re-set,” Paul says.

Most importantly, if I have few words running through my head, it’s unlikely that I’ll engage in those nasty self-directed fisticuffs. According to Paul, it’s the cranky tone of my “self-talk”—not the sculled wedge—that causes my feelings to run away.

Paul acknowledges it’s quite natural to be ticked off after a three-putt and to let off some steam. The key is to be aware that when I start to look down and mentally flagellate myself that I look up right away.

Instead of getting royally pissed off or bummed, the technique allows me to do three things:
• Stay calm—or quickly settle down
• Figure out what I need to do differently (it might be to relax, check my alignment, swing mechanics, etc.)
• Take new action as soon as possible (apply the fix)

And since I’ve started doing this, I find it works tremendously well. I’ve found that I’m able to bounce back after bad holes and I’ve prevented myself from suffering disaster holes.

Just as importantly, I find that I’m keeping my head up more throughout a round. I’m really appreciating the beauty of the course, the symmetry of golfers walking ahead of me, and most certainly the tall leafy trees.

I’ve even become a better dog walker. Instead of trudging through the woods with my head down, ruminating about something like the kids or work, I’m enjoying the wonderful pine trees and hardwoods, the sounds of the birds, the dense ferns and flowers, the lovely blue sky. I may still be working on whatever is concerning me, but I’m in a more positive state that gives me a better chance to resolve them.

Paul says that making this shift can be a very strange experience for many people; they may feel weirded out because their internal dialogue has diminished, and they might even talk to themselves a little more nicely. Some people might find that their eyes are tired because they’re rarely in the upper-half position. Paul reminds me that new behaviour almost always feels uncomfortable–or at least weird. 

So there you go: next time you play, keep your head up.

tim@oconnorgolf.ca

Performance Coach Paul Dewland is coaching me on the mental side of the game. He doesn't live on a mountain top, but in Mississauga, Ontario.

Paul Dewland is coaching me on the mental side of the game. For a guru, he’s a pretty funny guy. No Birkenstocks! I play most of my golf at Blue Springs GC in Acton, Ontario, just so you know where most of this little experiment is being played out. And our Club Championship is coming up August 7-8. Yes, this could get ugly.

I made it through two rounds on the weekend with only one shank.

Yes, I used the word. My brother Pat said that I was not fully facing my demon if I didn’t name it directly, so there it is: Shank.

And this is the last time I’m going to deal with the shanks.

Coach Paul says the less attention that I give to the shanks, the better. In other words, if I fixate on fixing them, I just perpetuate the behaviour that leads to them.

“Fighting the struggle makes the struggle the problem. It`s like someone who is panicking about drowning. It`s the panic that can kill you,“ he said.

“Trying to give energy to a new way is more effective. If you don`t give the old way any oxygen, it dies.“

In other words, I get better results when I focus on what I want.

And I have found that this works. Well, most of the time. For example, as I started to settle over my last iron shot of the day Saturday–an 8-iron into the 18th at Blue Springs—THAT word crept into my head, like someone had whispered it. It wasn`t `don`t freakin` shank it you dweeb.‘ It was just that nasty little word. (Sometimes, I really do think this is a mental game, the way I used to say it in Grade 4. “You`re mental!“)

I did not get an emotional charge about it, tense up, or do anything differently. I went through my routine exactly as I had all through the round, took one last look at the flag, brought my eyes back to the ball, and with the image of the flag in my mind`s eye, and the feeling that it was in front of me, I swung. I flushed a tight draw right at the pin to within about 12 feet.  Sweet!

Paul said this is prime example of “target absorption.“ We have not talked much about it yet, so I`m keen to hear more about it.

But to me it was like I over-rode the gremlins screwing around in the back of my brain, like I heard them rattling around but I just went on with my business anyway. My mind focused on each little move as I progressed through my routine, including an image of the ball heading straight to the flag. It was like I didn`t give the little buggers any time to sabotage me.

Yet on Sunday, I hit a shank from nearly the same spot as Saturday. I was really frustrated by my game, feeling uncomfortable over the ball… and whammo!

So it`s obvious that as golfers we`re never truly cured of our afflictions, the same way we never completely exorcise addictions and bad habits. Like gremlins, they hide deep in our brains, and we are aware that they are hiding back there. We know this because when we`re feeling stressed, it`s like they sneak out again, yell  “Booga! Booga!“ and challenge us to deal with them, yet again.

But that’s it. I’m done thinking and moaning about the unmentionables, hosel rockets, shanks, whatever.

Paul notes that most people who successfully change a habit do not focus on it daily, and that many do not have a big deal ceremony like `this is my last cigarette, EVER!` Some might, but the key point is that those who do make changes move on, work through the uncomfortable times, talk to friends or family when they feel stressed, and hold fast to their resolve.

For me, I’m hoping that one day I’ll realize ‘I haven’t thought about that for a while.’ It doesn`t mean that the fear isn`t there,  but I’ll know that I`ve moved on.

“It’s in those moments, that we realize that we’ve changed our behaviour,“ Paul said.

tim@oconnorgolf.ca

Performance coach Paul Dewland of PureMind Golf is coaching me. I'm making progress despite a recent meltdown.

Performance Coach Paul Dewland is coaching me on the mental side of the game, and I’m sharing my little victories and agonies with you through the magic of blogging. Content Rating: Contains violence.

I had lopped off its head. Any golfer who has battled the hosel rockets has had the feeling that he could really lose it, but to have it come to this… even I was stunned.

I was playing with my parents, Margaret and Dennis, and my brother Pat at Sunningdale in London, Ontario. As for all my games at Sunningdale, I’m always a little keyed up because I have memories of the course where I grew up. And, I’m aware that with my Dad, I’m closer to a three year old in temperament than a 53 year old. Sigh.

I had kept the hosel rockets at bay. We were first off the tee, and there was foursome on our butts from the get-go. On the 6th, we let them go through, and this bugged me. (I had visions of more speedy groups playing through our family foursome.)

On the 7th, I found my drive in the thick bluegrass rough. Trying to muscle it out, I keranged an HR about 30 yards. I marched to the ball—trying not to think—and clanged another straight right into the fescue.

With a flick of my wrist, I backhanded the business end of my wedge toward my stand bag. Wham! I watched as my driver head sickeningly toppled to the ground. Now, I was smoking mad at the shots AND my stupidity. I grabbed the head, hastily stuffed it in my bag pocket, and steamrolled to the next tee.

I don’t know that I’ve ever felt such a range of extreme emotions on a golf course. I paced up and down the tee deck, feeling angry, foolish, ashamed, stupid. My head was reeling, my face hot. As I tramped around, I talked myself out of walking straight to the parking lot.

I calmed myself with the thought that the family game was more important than a couple HRs, and I just needed to own what happened, put it behind me and soldier on. On the eighth fairway, I quickly confessed through gritted teeth what had happened and they all reacted like it was no big deal. My mom said, ‘Oh well, every golfer does some stupid things.”*

We had a great time, and I didn’t hit any more HRs that day. I think the key was focusing on having a good time with my family on a course that I love, and avoiding the inclination to ruminate on my little hissy fit.

I played the next day at Blue Springs and mostly played well, with the exception of about three HRs. I followed Paul’s advice; whenever I started to judge myself, I just stopped and looked up at the treetops, a surprisingly calming thing to do. (More on this in another blog.) I even laughed about it with my partners Scott and Brad, although I had the sense they regarded me like the weird cousin that no one is really sure about.

Later, as I ran some errands, I started to feel desperate. Paul’s advice was mostly working, but I felt that I needed a lesson on mechanics to fix these blessed hosel rockets.

I phoned Sean Casey at the ClubLink Academy at Glen Abbey but I screwed up the voice mail and cut myself off. I immediately called my friend Tom Jackson, Director of Instruction of the Core Golf Junior Academy in Orlando, and left him a message. I tried to sound funny, but I just sounded desperate.

I tried to phone Sean again, and then I said “Stop!” aloud. I became conscious that I was obsessing, as I often do when things go sideways. I laughed at myself for being ridiculous. I ran my errands, and let it be.

At home, I called Tom Jackson who answered soothingly, “This is Frasier Crane, and I’m listening.” I nearly fell off my chair.

We talked about some mechanical ideas, in particular how my upper body was likely tipping back as I went into impact, which TJ knows is an old problem for me. The next day, I went to the range and worked for two hours, and hit the ball really well. Between what TJ had recommended, and my own tinkering, I felt like I had largely solved the problem.

The next day I phoned Paul and told him that even though I had beheaded my driver, I had not plunged into a funk of judgments, and that I had made some great progress in HR exorcism by witnessing my thoughts rather than being ruled by them.

“You mostly stayed in a quiet place,” he said. “If you can co-exist with your internal critic, he tends to fall away by his own weight. 

“By witnessing yourself almost like a third person, you allowed yourself to find a space for correct movement, rather than stuffing your head with information. You stopped giving energy to the problem. When the intent is to hit good shots and control ball flight, you can find the swing that will do that. And golf is fun.”

Well, despite one angry spasm and continuing HR attacks, I have managed to avoid thoughts of lopping off my own head. Paul is helping me to see a new way to deal with the gremlins that bedevil me on the course, and off, and it’s very, very cool.

*Post-script: I didn’t kill my driver after all. I have a Nike Victory Red STR8-FIT Tour driver, which allows you to easily change head positions—and shafts. When I got home from London, I screwed off the old broken shaft with the handy wrench, put in another STR8-FIT shaft from my basement pro shop, and my trip had a happier ending.